I Believed In A Thing Called Love
by mericleworker
Summary: People constantly asked me if I was "okay" after my father's passing. It was probably one of the most aggravating elements of the situation, mostly because I had no idea if I was. I had no idea what feeling okay felt like anymore. Hinata's POV, HinaxNaru
1. Chapter 1

Rated M for: language, lemon in later chapters, drug content

Told in Hinata Hyuga's POV (Point of View).

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of the characters. Just the plot.

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I Believed In A Thing Called Love  
Chapter 1

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The sky was beginning to fade, and as it grew dimmer, my worries soared to greater heights. I couldn't stop replaying today's events in my mind, analyzing every miniscule detail, although I yearned to pause my overactive conscience more than most anything.

The last time I had almost gotten honest with him, things didn't go as I would have liked them to. When my older cousin asked what happened to my wrist, the phrase "honesty is the best policy" came to mind, yet I couldn't convince myself it was the right choice considering the situation. Honesty is hardly an option under circumstances such as these. So I gave him an unsatisfying explanation to which he responded to by dialing a number on the telephone which led to many months of unpleasant therapy and many concerned individuals lending their unappreciated sympathy; it would lead to many uncomfortably sterilized rooms and to the wish of not ever bothering with my wrist to begin with.

Now, maybe, I could grit my teeth, telling myself things are just the way they are, but I can never quite bring myseft to accept what I want so terribly to accept. The irrefutable concept we live only to die eats me alive each day. The fact my life is so miserably insignificant and no matter how much effort I put forth, it will remain as meaningless, desecrates my sad excuses for reasons to keep living.

Perhaps it was my despondently typical upbringing that made me such an unstable, consistently, discontent person. The suburbs tamed my individuality and attempted to convert me into a perfectly conservative, traditional citizen. Or maybe it was my unfortunate ability to never be satisfied, no matter how much I should be, or maybe it's my yearning to not be yet another statistic, and my nauseating success in converting into one.

Sometimes it all accumulated to being all to much for me to handle. Broken bones and blood just don't alleviate the weight that rests upon my feeble mind. I constantly await some magical substance to cure all my troubles, yet I fear that such a substance would ultimately turn me into what I despise most, a statistic.

I rarely won over the approval of my peers and neighbors. Yet, I wonder why others think I need their blessing to live my life the way in which I desire to. I wonder why I would need their blessing if I were to wish to bring my life to a close. Constantly rejected by society, I often retreat to my dimly lit room, hoping to somehow shield out all my surroundings. Sometimes, I turn on the television to see what's going on in the world. The news provides ample information about the world. All I see is hate on the news, broadcasts of wars, violence, crime, and subtle attempts to persuade the viewers to conform to the ideas practiced by the news team.

But now, rather than withdrawing to my living space, I was sitting atop the hill overlooking the mediocre suburb in which I, along with an overwhelmingly conservative population resided. Ideas flustered through my head to a maddening point, so in efforts to calm my distressed mind, I lit up my bowl and took a sequence of deep inhales. After awhile, everything seemed to slow to an understandable pace, and as relaxed as I could become, I began down the hill back home. Neji would be choking over my whereabouts as he always seemed to, though my disappearances occured frequently.

After a brisk 15 minute walk, I came to the doorstep of our modest townhouse paid by the two individuals I detested more than any others. With a swift opening of the door, Neji began his routine interrogation. Although his strict parenting style grew extremely obnoxious, it was comforting to know there was one person who cared enough to be so annoying.

"Where were you?!" he shouted, taking drags of his cigarette in between segments of his lecturing, "You know you can't just run out on me like that! You need to let me know where you are! I'm not going to tolerate your aimless wandering anymore!"

As his anger lessened like a deflating balloon, I stared at him impassively. He looked just as he had when I left, dressed in a pale polo; the overwhelming light color washing out of his face, the faded blue of his denim jeans corresponding with the light shade of his eyes. His long, dark brown hair was coarse due to his lack of vanity and effort.

Towering over me, he paused realizing his tone. "You don't even care, do you?" There was a long pause. The smallest sounds seemed deafening as he stared me down. "Talk to me god damn it!"

With no intent of engaging in aggressive warfare, I turned down the hallway and began up the stairs to my room. For the longest time following my father's death, I couldn't make it up to my room, because it meant passing my father's. For months, I sought refuge on the living room couch. Neji had offered up his bedroom, but I felt, having been the reason he had dropped out of college, I was a heavy enough burden.

Neji had been very upset over the loss of my dad -- his uncle -- whereas, I just felt numb. Everything felt numb now, the kind of numb a dentist makes your mouth before a root canal, with the persistent digging of his surgical tools ripping through your gums to the point where you can just barely aknowledge the pain.

Everyone claimed I had changed since then, but I disagree. It wasn't me that had changed, it was everthing else; the way everthing looked, the way life felt, the way everyone acted. People constantly asked me if I was "okay" after my father's passing. It was probably one of the most aggravating elements of the situation, mostly because I had no idea if I was. I had no idea what feeling okay felt like anymore. They asked if I missed him, if I loved him. Although I answered yes each time, the truth was, I loathed him. The truth was, to me, he was merely the coward who selfishly hung himself on his daughter's thirteenth birthday.

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I Believed In A Thing Called Love  
Chapter 1 Ended

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A/N: So that's it. Review (please).

I've recently decided that until I get _at least **10** reviews_, I won't publish the second chapter and so on. As you can see, I'm a bit stubborn and have a lack of patience. So, unless some of you are willing to take the time to write a few feedbacks, -- it doesn't have to be much, a few "good jobs" will suffice -- I guess this story is out of luck.

I'll be waiting ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/****N:**  
I got tired of not being able to upload this chappie because no one was commenting my first one. So, I've decided to hell with you all!!! I don't need your approval! I'll upload my chapters whenever the f*ck I want! ^%(^)_^%#$%^#$%^&*(!!

But thank you for those of you who actually reviewed. Really thank you. Because if it wasn't for you all I would have most likely had a nervous breakdown by now.

Rated M for: language, lemon in later chapters, drug content

Told in Hinata Hyuga's POV (Point of View).

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of the characters. Just the plot.

* * *

I Believed In A Thing Called Love  
Chapter 1

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I wasn't sure if it was the unfeasibly sterol state of the room, the exemplary collection of magazines and bibles, or the awkward, flabby secretary that made this waiting room so unbearable. Ill at ease, I peered over at the middle-aged couple filling the two seats to my left. The woman looked infuriated, to say the least, as she glared at the nauseatingly greasy looking man who sat immediately to her right. Across the room sat a troubled looking teenage girl. I recognized her as Ino Yamanaka, one of the girls in my fifth period math class. I heard she got knocked up at a party a few months ago, which I assumed was the reasoning behind her presence here. She anxiously tapped her foot as she sat, her eyes darting in every which direction. I practically went into cardiac arrest just witnessing her distressed state.

Diverting my attention to something other than Ino Yamanaka, I peered up at the diminutive television screen suspended from the ceiling, which played Finding Nemo -- probably for at least the seventh that day. I was never one for Disney movies. I found them overrated and scantily made. Finding Nemo was a tale which consists of a fish named Nemo getting lost, and being such a dependant loser he has to wait for his dad to rescue him from the horrors of living in an aquarium. In the end, they grow closer due to their struggle, which I've noted as a common theme in the consistant cliché constituent of Disney films.

The door leading to the therapeutical offices opened, an event highly anticipated by each person waiting to be relieved of the uncomfortable feeling that is a waiting room.

"Hinata Hyuga," called the voice of the woman who had swung open the door. I stood and walked to meet her at the door as three pairs of irritated eyes seemed to stare me down in anger since I had been called before them. Dressed from head to toe in miss-matched clothing, the woman's general appearance was overwhelming. She wore a sweater littered with pins and buttons which I assumed were either family heirlooms or unfortunate garage sale purchases. Although her fashion sense was miserably incompetent, she seemed to be fairly friendly.

"It's gonna be that there room to you right, sweetie pie." Oh God, a southern accent. This was the voice I'd have to pretend to listen to three months? Oh God. Against my better judgment, I kept following her until we came to the office I would spend many wasted hours in. She entered, then I.

"Oh, are you the therapist?"

"Oh, no Sunshine; Imma just a helper t'day, cause' it's been busy 'round here."

Her lack of decent grammar skills was disconcerting to say the least. "Oh. Okay." With that, she exited the humble office.

The office formed a small square resembling a living rome, minus the living. Its spotless upkeep decimated the illusion that it was in the comfort of someone's home. The walls were covered in glossy red paint, lined at the top with a hideous floral decoration. On the wall to my left lay a plaid blue couch, and directly across from that, a red armchair. Posters lending moral support hung on each wall, and a piece of furniture, beleaguering me. Shelves parallel to the couch held what appeared to be a strange collection of coffee mugs illustrated with various dogs and cats displaying every image from a table of dogs playing poker to a cat surrounded by a forest of candy canes.

Moderately disturbed, I turned to one of the posters taped on the wall. It read: "Be honest, like Washington". Featuring an image of George Washington's childhood version admitting to his father he had chopped down a cherry tree, it was one of the most aggravating posters I have ever encountered. Honesty was what landed me in this ongoing issue in my life. After I had admitted that, for the sake of argueing, I had chopped down a cherry tree, I had been severely punished, whereas "Honest Washington" got a pat on the back and a new respect from his father. Life wasn't a forgiving system in which honesty solved everything. Confessing to a murder didn't make you free of a sentence. Confessing to a slashed wrist didn't make you free of therapy.

Startling me, the door abruptly swung open, revealing a sharply dressed woman. Her teeth were perfectly straight with the exception of her snaggletooth, which was repulsively crooked. She wore the biggest and reddest libstick I had ever seen, which matched her bright red vest and shoes. I had an urge to mess up her perfectly straight hair which she had parted down an inch off center.

"Hello, you must be Hyuga-san!" she happily greeted me. Awaiting a response, she paused. Then, realizing one wasn't coming, she rambled on, "We will be spending a lot of time together, Hyuga-san! We should get to know each other very well. Now, during these sessions, you can feel free to tell me everything that's bothering you, making you happy, angry, everything! I'm looking forward to getting to know you and I hope you end up finding these few months as enjoyable as I will!" Her bogus smile made me cringe almost as much as her appalling enthusiasm made me queasy. "Come, sit. Make yourself comfortable."

As much as I didn't want to , I abided by the given instructions and sunk into the blue plaid couch as she seated herself in the red armchair. Laying her Starbucks on the table next to her, she began. "Oh! Silly me! I forgot to introduce myself! Well, my name is Docter Shizune, or Shizune-sama, if you will. Now, how would you like to start?"

I sighed. Now the woman with the country accent seemed appealing, but, regrettably, I was stuck with the obnoxious, inportunate Shizune-sama. I suppose I should have been able to predict such a frustrating woman, seeing as her oppice was practically a breeding ground for obnoxious, frustrating individuals. I only hoped I could maintain my sanity through these sessions.

"Hyuga-san, how would you like to start?" she asked again. I sighed again. "Hyuga-san, I asked you how you would like to start?"

I didn't know, yet alone care.

"Anything that's happened to you recently that you'd like to fill me in on? I have one hundred percent confidentiality, so you don't have to worry about anything!"

"No."

Our conversation carried on for an entire wasted hour, consisting of my monosyllable responses. Unsatisfied with our lack of progress, Shizune scheduled another appointment for that week. Recieving a slip of paper stating I mush return for yet another hour long meeting, I made my way out of the office. The humid July air soon filled my lungs as I walked around the building, searching for a place no one could be. Around the corner of the office, I found a bench and sat as I grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of my jacket pocket.

I wasn't sure how I had started smoking. I just knew that I never used to, not before my father's death. A lot of things had been different. Looking back, things could have been so different if my father hadn't died. His death changed every thing; or maybe I was just using his death as an excuse, too afraid to take the blame upon myself. Everything seemed so carefree before. Everything seemed so blissful. I had taken it all for granted. I thought as I lt my cigarette and breathed in deeply.

My eyes drooped as I leaned back, desperately wanting a headrest to perch my head upon. I hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night, which was a normal occurance, seeing as I was borderline insomniac. Rather than sleeping, the evening prior I snuck out with my friend, Naruto Uzumaki, though, I hadn't planned to. It was in Naruto's nature to do spontaneous things, even when he was almost sure they wouldn't end well. He was nearly always unpredictable, which although was unreliable and inconvenient at times, I admired as it always kept things interesting.

_The night hadn't been interesting in the least, I thought as I rolled over for at least the tenth time in failed attempts to doze off. Neji had been far too furious to speak to me, so I isolated myself in my room. I turned over yet again, closing my eyes as hard as I could. Tap, tap. I bolted up, startled, not expecting the sequence of sounds. Tap, tap. There it was again. Determining the sound as a numper of taps on the glass of one of my bedroom's windows, I began towards it. The night was lighter than usual, as the Harvest moon presented itself. I gazed down, searching for the source of the disturbance. Sure enough, at the bottom of the tree, stood Naruto, motioning for me to climb the large tree beside my window -- large to the point that at times it seemed to be engulfing the house._

_Hesitating, I resorted to the sliding door in my kitchen for my escape. Stepping into the crisp night air, Naruto was already at the road, waiting for me to leave the yard. I trudged through the grass, moistened from a layering of dew, as it squished under my feet, the dampness soaking through my shoes. I reached Naruto, and he embraced me._

_"I'm so happy to see you," he whispered. He released me, stepping back to face me. The portion of his eyes that was visible from under the bangs of his tangled, light hair was a sunny yellow, a smile was etched in his excited, blue eyes. He, along with Neji and the majority of the population, exceeded my height. "So, how have you been?"_

_"Decent," I replied. "And you?"_

_"Good, now that I'm off of probation," he began. "So, do you want to go for a drive?"_

_I had forgotten that Naruto getting on his probation meant losing his car to his parents. As we walked to the area on the side of the street in which I had parked my car, my navy blue truck came into view. It was nicer than any car I had ever owned, considering I had crashed the original car given to me. I was forced to pay for this one -- with the exception of insurance -- on my own. "It's great that you have a car," he muttered as we opened the doors and climbed inside._

_Naruto preferred driving aimlessly, so although sky rocketing gas prices encouraged otherwise, we did. Blasting music, we kept driving until it was about four in the morning. I began to yawn, "Hey, Naruto, I should probably be heading home. Do you want a ride back to your place?"_

_"No, it's fine. I'll walk," Naruto said. He had never wanted me to know where he lived. He said it was for his personal protection, seeing as he supplied me with drugs from time to time. I didn't do anything worse than marijuana, though, as he snorted Cocaine like no other. Ignoring my curiousity, I refrained from asking to see his home._

_"Thanks for tonight," he said, as he slid out of the car onto the rocky pavement of my street._

_"Ha," I laughed, "I didn't really do anything, though."_

_"Yeah, you did," he said, once again hugging me for an extensive time, compared to that of an average hug. "Bye, Hinata-chan."_

_"Bye," I said, beginning toward my yard._

_"Wait." I stopped._

_"Yes?"_

_"Uh, nevermind. I'll see you around," he stuttered. With that, I softly slid open the door into the kitchen, slipped inside, and closed it behind me._

Looking back, the night had been fun, but also very tiring, taking up my potentially restful hours. I put my hands in my pocket, surprised to find a rectangular object. I had forgotten that I had brought my iPod. Pulling it out and untangling the headphones, I turned to Modest Mouse. I tilted forward, resting my face in my hands. I dreaded going home again, to a quiet home. Although the quiet was what I sometimes wanted, at times it could scare me more than anything else.

"Hey, you're Hinata Hyuga, right?" The unexpected voice caught me off guard; I lept to my feet, throwing my cigarette to the ground. "Whoa, calm down. I didn't mean to freak you out." It was Ino Yamanaka. Dressed in a seafoam green blouse and blue skinny jeans, she began again, "So, can I bum a cigarette off of you?" She asked, laughing a little at the end of the sentence.

"Oh," I said, surprised to ever hear such a question, "Yeah, yeah sure." She slowly took it from me.

"Thanks." She paused, as a thin layer of awkwardness glazed over. "So, uhm, I didn't know you came here."

"I didn't until now," I replied, "How long have you come?"

"Oh, around three or four months."

"That sucks."

"Oh, not really. Actually, once you get past that strange feeling that seems to hover over every conversation, it's really not that bad."

"Oh," I said, perplexed by the side of Ino Yamanaka that hadn't been visable to me until now. "I don't think it's neccessary for me to come here, though."

"I didn't either at first, but as it turned out, it helped. Or, at least, I felt better after I started coming here."

"Oh," I said again, refraining from asking as to why she came.

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I Believed In A Thing Called Love  
Chapter 1 Ended

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So that's that. Please Review.

_Please._


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